Egret, Without Regrets our Masterchef Basks
Without Regrets our Masterchef Basks
In the morning light
As a new dawn takes flight
In its glory, the egret basks
And why it does bask
Should anyone ask
Well yet again
He created culinary heaven
For behold Goa’s own Auguste Escoffier,
The white robed wonder of the wetlands’ buffet,
Whose beak, precise as a paring knife,
Carves symphonies of flavour from a simple life.
He, the bearer of the Michelin Feathers Three!
A title whispered with awe from creek to sea,
The sovereign of sautéed sunlight,
The emperor of elegantly plated twilight,
The maestro who seasons the breeze
With hints of river herbs and estuary teas.
Frogs applaud from lily pad pews,
Crabs scuttle forth to spread the news,
Even the herons, forever proud, aloof
Bow their heads in humble proof
For none surpass the egret’s art,
His marsh born magic, his culinary heart.
He stirs the dawn with a flourish grand,
Whips up clouds with a flick of his hand,
And garnishes the rising sun
With zest of joy for everyone.
So when he basks, serene and bright,
In the soft embrace of morning light,
Know this truth, both bold and plain:
He rests for soon he’ll rise again
To craft, with feathered mastery,
Another feast for land and sea.
By Miku
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